Meant to be Cold
by Dyavol's Angel
Summary: Violet eyes snapped open to white flurries in the air, on the ground, surrounding him. His eyes dull with ongoing painful memories; he'd awoken in his birthplace again. His hand searched his chest as eyes roamed the sky, "I'm meant to be cold."


**I honestly have no idea how I put this together, but I kinda like it.**

**Warning: murder, suicide, implied RusAme (lil bit)**

**Hetalia is not mine.**

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They always complained of how cold he was, but none of them knew that he questioned his existence every waking moment. How could something so cold ever truly be alive? How could something live without a heart, and his, he placed a hand over his chest, popped out every once in a while. It beat, or maybe it was just a false sense of feeling; it did not keep him warm like other forms of life, so why was the heart so important? There was not a time in his life that Ivan could ever remember feeling warmth or true happiness. It had always been so cold…

_Cold… So cold… Always alone_

_The blood… it's hot but it's not mine… I want to be warm_

_What is that? Tears… Why can't I cry? Am I broken?_

_The scars… Why do they all want to hurt me?_

_My… My heart is… Am I dead?_

The world was dark, just how he remembered it. Dark and cold like the first time he appeared in the snow, lost, alone, and cold. He couldn't feel the world around him and it frightened him; it had always frightened him. He wanted so much to be like the others, to have friends, to feel, to be warm, but he was void. They would never understand loneliness like he did or the need for bloodshed.

Ivan wasn't sure how long he'd been lying there in that same position with a blanket pulled up to his chest; one hand lay to the side while the other stayed over his heart. He could feel it, but still there was no warmth, and he didn't know what to make of it anymore; he'd become so numb. He was numb to the constant bickering, the insulting, and the fighting; the nations had always picked on him since he existed.

His head slowly turned to the side to stare at the glowing clock on his nightstand; it was only four, two more hours till the sun would shine through his window and scorch his skin, five more hours till the world meeting. He felt an impending feeling of dread.

Russia could already feel the hatred towards him, they were all mad at him, but it was for nothing. They knew just as well as he that he was just a pawn, a slave to his government, just like the rest of them; that did not stop them, they seemed to forget that he was Russia, capable of taking them down without breaking a sweat. He had no idea why he'd even come; he knew this would be their topic. All of the countries were there save Ukraine and a few others; all of NATO was screaming insults at him for advancing on Ukraine and practicing drills with… China.

All he could do was sit there quietly; taking every insult that flowed from the mouths that loathed him the most. Screaming the loudest of course was America; they were enemies again. His fingers twitched and his small smile grew a little wider as a darker mood came over him. No one ever stayed his friend for very long; hatred would always consume them and then they would leave him alone again. They would always leave him with his hand outstretched; they would always make him feel so dull, he wanted to cry but he could never cry. They could yell all they wanted, he didn't care because they would never understand him, but he wanted to feel and he wanted them to feel how he felt. His smile stretched painfully as he stood now, his hand shaking with the violence that was going through his mind. If they wanted to declare him as an enemy for something that wasn't his doing then he would teach them all a lesson…

His pipe slid into his hand as his inner child-self hid inside; and it was just then that someone sensed his condescending aura and saw the bloodlust in his violet eyes – it was too late. Those that were looking at him backed away in fear, and those still yelling obliviously, well…

Russia tightened his hands around his pipe and swung his arms like he was hitting a baseball; France instantly went down with a large gash on his head; blood spurted all over his face and torso – it was so warm. All eyes were now on him as the sound reverberated throughout the room.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing!" England yelled, his emerald eyes fierce with rage.

Russia's smile went from wicked to insane, "sazhat na kol (impale)," his voice came out husky and he raised his arm again still mumbling that same phrase. Weapons were drawn against him, but he didn't care – he continued to strike at them as they fired at him. He acted as if he didn't feel a thing, but his body was screaming; he would not stop until every last nation in NATO was down and immobile. With his mind made he bashed them on the head and impaled them in the chest or torso; it was so easy he laughed. He took joy in seeing the fear on their faces and their useless limp bodies once he'd finished them off.

He stopped, his pipe resting by his side; they were all dead. His smile was wicked again, and then… he stumbled…

His eyes widened as he looked down at the gaping hole in his chest; his fingers moved to it slowly, his heart was gone. Slowly he turned around to find America gritting his teeth, his lip busted and nose bleeding, staggering on the floor with a gun in his hand. Russia looked back down at the hole in his chest, eyes narrowing, and laughed; it was an awful choking laugh and America for once was scared quiet, his hand dropped out of disbelief.

Russia knew he was dying, that's all that good for nothing heart did for him, but he was not going to die knowing America was still alive. His hand stiffened around his pipe again, and America tried very hard to get away, but Russia was too fast and had already brought the hard metal down on the crown of his head, breaking his skull.

The pipe clattered to the floor as America slumped over; Russia's hair shadowed his face as he looked around at the mess he'd made.

His smile faltered and he brought his bloody hands up to his face in horror, and he felt little pricks at the corners of his eyes but nothing would come. Russia fell to his knees still staring at his hands, then his eyes drifted to the hole in his chest. He screamed as his hands tangled their way through his hair; why was it taking so long?

_I'm a monster! Why aren't I dying?!_

Russia was tearing at his hair and his breathing became quick and shallow as he hyperventilated. One hand shakily reached out for Alfred and rolled him over so his wound was hidden; Alfred was growing cold… cold… His eyes were a dull shade of blue and his mouth was slightly open, blood pouring from his mouth and nose.

This surprisingly calmed him; he pulled Alfred into his arms and smiled as he buried his face into the crook of his neck, it was nice for someone else to be cold for a change. Struggling to breathe now he picked up the gun that Alfred had dropped and pressed it to his temple, yes he would go out as a coward now; closing his eyes he pulled the trigger. Death wasn't forever, not for them; they would just come back… after a very long process of remembering every painful memory and reliving the pain of every battle of their lives.

_His eyes opened; there was nothing but white. Everywhere there was a blanket of white covering everything and it was cold. _

_There was no one. Not a soul stirred and the snow had cocooned him off from the world. He knew he couldn't stay there because he had a purpose; without much thought he shifted from the snow… wandering aimlessly until a girl found him._

_A smile, "Who are you?"_

_… "I am Rus." Yes, that sounded right; he was the country of Rus._

_Another smile, "welcome to the world little brother," then there was a hug; she was warm._

_A small smile formed on his lips as he patted the furry creature in his lap; it was his first friend. By now he realized that his heart was broken, or at least it didn't work._

_A crunch of snow and long shadow overwhelmed him. Blue eyes looked up, frightened; his hand stilled in the rabbit's fur. The man above him did not look nice; he pulled the rabbit to his chest._

_"W-who are you?"_

_"Mongolia will teach you to be strong; first lesson, you must kill."_

_"Oh no I can't do that."_

_"You will…"_

_Mongolia bent down and placed one big over Rus's and moved it around the rabbit's neck. "Squeeze."_

_"No."_

_Rus felt the rabbit in his arms squirm as Mongolia began squeezing his hand. "No!" The country of Rus cried out to no avail._

_Rus stared blankly now, death looked so unnatural, but he found that he wanted to kill the man that had done this to his friend. Something was missing; he felt so empty; he was supposed to cry now._

_Blue eyes had turned violet; Rus could see that staring into the river. In the river he could also see that gray clouds were growing in the horizon, maybe he should hurry back to his sisters._

_Before he could move a shadow dominated him; overwhelming him with feelings of hatred and sadness. "Mongol."_

_"Second lesson Rus." Mongolia pinned him to the ground and ripped his clothes off. Rus screamed out in pure agony._

_Mongolia whispered, "You work for me now."_

Violet eyes snapped open to white flurries in the air, on the ground, surrounding him. His eyes dull with ongoing painful memories; he'd awoken in his birthplace again. His hand searched his chest as eyes roamed the sky, "I'm meant to be cold."

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